It perhaps wasn't the gold that Justin had envision himself leaving Wednesday Night Warfare with... or was it? Justin told the Asylum that while they may have won the battle on Madness, Defiance would re-group and fire back. Did they ever. Following the revelation of Austin Fernando becoming the fourth member of Defiance, the unorthodox quartet would then drop another bombshell on the XWF. There was a fifth. This wasn't some promising young rookie. It wasn't a retired legend. It wasn't even a champion in his prime. No. The fifth element? None other than the boss himself, Shane Carver Annonistrator. He sent the XWF into meltdown as he proclaimed himself as the man who would lead Defiance into war against The Asylum and the XWF. His first act was to award the X-Treme Championship that had once belonged to Dr. D'Ville, to the far more deserving Justin Sane. Shane Carver knows talent when he see's it. He recognizes the elite when it appears before his very eyes, and he never fails to capitalize on such things. Defiance most certainly hit back in the best possible way, but they are by no means finished. This week marks the beginning of the Lethal Lottery tournament, in which Justin Sane will be competing. His partner? The man who defeated him on Monday Night after an attack from LH Harrison left Sane rendered helpless, Cain. Justin is no fool, he understands that this partnership is a means to an end for both men. He holds no ill feeling towards Cain. On Warfare, they will fight as one, and they will succeed.. because that is what Justin Sane does. He succeeds. Go ahead, talk about purchased titles, gifted briefcases and gold that 'was not earned'. The fact remains, Justin Sane is one half of the XWF Tag Team Champions. He is, a 24/7 Briefcase holder. And in case you missed it before, he is the NEW XWF X-Treme Champion. He isn't hiding. You think you're good enough behind all those false words? Step up. He'll be waiting.

"People always said I was lucky. You know, it's funny.. the harder I worked, the luckier I seemed to get."
- Peter Daicos

[// END FORWARD \\]

Sunday, 1st March, 2015 - 8:21pm || Sane Residence || Philadelphia, PA .

:: I rip the top off an ice cold beer and flip it onto the black granite which makes up the surface of my kitchen counter. I take a large swig, necking the bottle and savoring the flavor as it rushes to the back of my mouth nd slides eagerly down my throat. I grab the second beer which I had on the counter and walk towards the living room, rounding the corner to see Rodd fiddling with his camera on a tripod. ::

"You got it?"

"Oui, almost monsieur."

"Sweet."

:: I walk over to where Rodd is standing and hold out the second beer, which I had opened previously. Rodd finishes tightening the handle on the tripod, then stands up, hitching up his gray sweat pants and wiping the sweat from his brow with his right forearm. He exhales deeply, then grabs the beer. ::

"Merci."

"Rodd, take a seat, we need to have a chat."

"A chat, monsieur. Sane?'

"Oui."

:: I go to take a drink from my beer, but stop as the bottle is almost at my lips. ::

"I mean, yes. Yes, we do. God, now you've got me speaking that stupid backward language."

"My apologies, Justin, but did you know.."

:: I slide over the arm rest of my black leather sofa gracefully, and come to rest on the comfort of a soft cushion. I lean back, allowing my head to sink slightly into the backing of the sofa. Rodd sits down on the sofa opposite me, as he take a drink from his beer, before continuing his statement. ::

"..French is widely regarded as the language of love."

"Is that so?"

:: I made sure to use a curious tone so as to humor Rodd. I take a drink from the beer and place my elbows on my knees, leaning forward. ::

"Well, that's actually what I wanted to talk to you about."

"Monsieur.?"

"Michelle tells me you have a thing for the young lady down at the cafe? Rosa?"

:: Rodd turns a nasty shade of red and lets out a nervous, but unconvincing laugh. ::

"Justin, I..."

"Relax Rodd, it's cool. I want to help you."

"You do?"

"Well, sure. I mean, I think it'd be good for you to get out of the house more. You know, meet someone, maybe lose a little weight, find your own place.. there's no motivation quite like a woman."

:: Rodd shuffles uncomfortably in his seat and drains a mouthful of beer, as do I. ::

"Ugh. Justin, it's no use. I am 'orrible with women. I think I am beyond help."

"Rodd, don't be like that! You just need a little confidence, that's all. You're a great guy, you have a lot going for you."

"Really, like what?"

"Well..."

:: I look Rodd up and down, searching for something nice to say about him. Wow, I hadn't thought ahead to this part of the conversation. ::

"You work for me, right? That's something. How many people can say they work for the brightest star of the biggest wrestling organization in the world?"

"...you just want me out of 'zis 'ouse, don't you?"

"Oui.. god damn it. YES. But, that doesn't mean I don't genuinely want you to find someone. You're a nice guy. You know what you need? You need a new image, one you can be confident in."

:: Rodd mulls my words over in his head for a few moments, before nodding. ::

"Yeah. Yeah, you're right. I do need to make some lifestyle changes. Will you 'elp me get in shape?"

"Of course, man. BUT! This time, you have to listen and do everything as I say. First of all,"

:: I stand up and lean forward, taking Rodd's half drank beer out of his hand and setting it down on the table. ::

"No more beer. Too many carbs, you don't have the physique or fitness regime to afford such a luxury yet. It's a new day for you, Rodd. You'll get your Rosa, mark my words."

:: Rodd's eyes light up with hope as I pat him on the shoulder. I sit back down ad take a swig from my beer. ::

"Now quick, film this and upload it to the website for me, would you? Michelle should be home shortly."

"Oui monsieur, but of course."

:: Rodd gets to his feet and makes his way behind the camera, swiveling it to face me. I see him switch it on, the light turning from red to green, and I begin with a smirk on my face. ::

"Cain! Buddy. Sorry I missed all your calls, but I'm a busy man. What, between being a twenty four seven briefcase holder, one half of the Tag Team Champions and the NEW XWF X-Treme Champion, I've kind of got a lot on my plate right now. I'm sure you understand.

Congratulations on your victory over me on Madness last week, by the way. Very impressive. Wouldn't you have beaten me if LH Harrison hadn't stuck his nose in my business again? Probably not. But hey, a win is a win, right? Just like a title is a title.

See Cain, I'm not sure if you've heard or not, but there's a lot of talk going around about me being handed the XWF X-Treme Championship. The question is, does it really matter? Let me answer that for you: No. It doesn't matter, not in the slightest, and it matters even less what everybody else thinks about it. The fact is, I now carry two championships and one briefcase, and I am undoubtedly the future of the XWF.

The Asylum might light to tell you otherwise, in fact, I can almost hear Frodo Smackins now. I'm sure he is just chomping at the bit to come out and unleash a tirade of false accusations at myself and the rest of Defiance, but the truth is, nobody takes notice of him anyway. All Frodo manages to do week in and week out is prove to the world what a fucking joke he is, and always has been. Why on earth D'Ville and Harrison would allow somebody such as Frodo to tarnish their name is beyond me, but hey, as we've seen of late... The good doctor and his understudy don't exactly make good decisions.

However, that is irrelevant, Cain. What is relevant now, is the Lethal Lottery tournament, and you know what? You may just be the luckiest man in this whole damn federation. You see, when that obese moron, Peter Gilmour drew our names out of the hat one after the other, he basically handed you the winning ticket. You have nothing to worry about, because irrespective of your own performance, Justin Sane will do what he does best.. get the job done. Now don't get it twisted, I know you can hold your own, and I fully expect you to. I don't plan on doing all the heavy lifting out there, but if that's what it comes down to, I will do what's necessary to ensure I am advancing to the second round.

Seriously though man, why on earth are you trying to act like you're the big dog here? You're going to hurt me if I step out of line? Bitch, please. Take a look at who wears the gold in this partnership, and understand that I am the reason you have a free ride into the second round. We're grown men, there's no need to be childish about this, or pretend that things may break down. We both understand each other. This is simply a means to an end for both of us, and when that final bell rings, rest assured that it will be our hands raised in victory. Hell, I even plan on shaking your hand and thanking you for your services, but after that point? We are done. It is back to every man for himself, and our alliance is done. Cain, you have nothing to worry about.. we will co-exist.. and we will be victorious, rest assured.

Two men who should be worried though, are Steve Stajan and the fucking bitch who is too scared to even reveal themselves prior to Wednesday night. Stajan, what the fuck are you doing? Nothing smart, that much is crystal clear. Don't worry, I feel for you. I'm sure you never anticipated this. I mean, honestly, who in their right mind would have signed up for the Lethal Lottery if they thought even for a second that they might come up against yours truly in the first round? As fate would have it, you were shit out of luck, and you bought the losing ticket.

Steve Stajan, a man trained by illustrious Barney Green! Ha! What a fucking joke. I almost couldn't believe my luck when I saw that I was facing you in the first round. Hell, before you know it, everybody out the back will be telling me management handed me this fucking victory as well, because, you know, they have nothing better to talk about.

And as for this mystery entrant? What can I say? Not a lot, because I don't even know who the fuck you are. It's going to stay that way. All these fucking losers from way back in the day think they can come back and make the same impact they did when this place was nothing but a damn playground for autistic school kids. Well guess what? The game has fucking changed since you last played it, and right now, we play by a different set of rules. There's a new breed.. a volatile wave of talent that if it could travel back through time, would obliterate every last one of you in your prime. I am at the head of that pack. To find yourself against Justin Sane, is to have your legacy crushed.

So go ahead, keep your identity hidden. Make your comeback and aspire to be as good as you once were. It doesn't matter. Even if you are every bit as good as you were in your prime, the fact of the matter is.. you still ain't shit compared to Justin.. fucking.. Sane! And this Wednesday night on Warfare? I'll show you exactly why I am.. the Epitome of the Elite!"

:: I smirk wickedly to myself as Rodd switches off the camera. ::

F A D E 2 B L A C K . . .